


The Face of Evil

by penpenhooray



Series: Dark Fairy Tale AU [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Armitage might be more turned on that he wants to admit, Breakfast, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Decapitation, M/M, gross abuse of similes, mask removal, oh shit he's hot moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Armitage is led to breakfast, he finally comes face to face with Kylo Ren.</p><p>And what a face it is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Face of Evil

Armitage had no idea how Phel managed to lead him to the dining room...or how there was even a dining room to be led to. Where there had been nothing but endless walls and corridors when Armitage had been attempting to flee for his freedom, doors now seemingly appeared under the touch of Phel’s bloody hand.

 

But Before Armitage could marvel (or lament) the castle’s willingness to bend to the whem of a servant, the two stepped through another shadowy doorway and into the dining room.

 

Where Ren was waiting for them.

 

“You’re late.”

 

The sound of Ren’s voice had Armitage frozen in fear despite himself, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. And though part of him wanted to chastize himself for reacting like a child, scared of a ghost story, another part had to acknowledge that Kylo Ren, it seemed, was no ghost story at all. Fear, in this instance, was a completely logical reaction.

 

Ren looked very much the same as he had the night he stole Armitage from his room: his black robes billowing from seemingly non-existent wind, his large hands covered in thick leather gloves…

 

And the mask… the mask that been the focal point of many of the stories Armitage had heard as a child (and how many times had Techie snuck into his room after a nightmare about that mask?), the mask that was now staring so intently at him with its sightless eyes. If Armitage didn’t know better, he would think it was staring into his soul.

 

But did he know better?

 

“My apologies for our tardiness, my lord.” Phel’s disembodied head replied from its cradle in his hands, as if their tardiness was the true horror of the situation, “The Queen and I had a small disagreement prior to our arrival.”

 

Armitage looked at the servant, stomaching the gore of his severed neck. Small disagreement? 

 

Ren scoffed, “You’re making a mess, Phel.” He shook his head, before raising one of his large hands toward the servant.

 

At once, Phel’s head left his hands, suspended in the air by nothing at all before settling back on the mess of sinews that was his neck. The two bits of flesh meshed like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t belong together, but had been forced into place. Obviously Armitage’s sword had been responsible for more damage than he thought. But then Ren extended his hand toward the table, and Armitage watched as the shadow cast by the elaborate candelabra stretched across the room, wrapping itself again and again around Phel’s throat.

 

Like a bandage, Armitage realized. A black, shadowy bandage.

 

By the time Ren was finished, Phel’s neck was encased in a thick band of black ribbon, while the candelabra no longer cast a shadow on the table.

 

Phel’s bloody fingers gently caressed his repaired (albeit slightly longer) neck, “Thank you, my Lord.”

 

Ren hummed, seemingly in boredom. “Go clean up your mess, Phel.”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

With that, Phel turned and exited the room the door vanishing behind him. Leaving Armitage alone with Ren once more.

 

The Lord of the castle extended his hand to Armitage, “Come, my Queen, you must be hungry.”

 

Armitage flinched away at the gesture, “I am not your queen,” he hissed.

 

“Perhaps not yet, but it is for the best to get into the habit before the wedding.” Ren murmured dryly, “Now, Armitage…”

 

Before Armitage could argue further, his legs were knocked out from under him as a chair flew from one side of the room. It was all over in an instant, and Armitage found himself sitting at the lavish dining room table, with Kylo Ren moving to the head of the table beside him. 

 

The table was set with a variety of delicious food: rich meats, fresh fruit, steaming hot pastries...but Armitage could not eat.

 

“You will eat.” Ren replied, and Armitage cursed the fact the monster could hear his thoughts.

 

Armitage clenched his fists, “I’ve heard the tales of those who ate from your table, how they were damned to your realm for all eternity.”

 

“You will be here for eternity whether you eat or not.” Came Ren’s dry reply, as he began to summon food to his plate, “But I refuse to have you appear gaunt at our wedding. So  _ eat. _ ”

 

At once, Armitage began to pile food onto his plate: foods he recognized, foods that looked foreign to him, foods that looked downright poisonous to him. He couldn’t stop, he felt compelled to obey his master’s order--

 

No. Ren was not his master. He couldn’t think like that or he would never be able to escape.

 

It was then Armitage realized Ren, who had a full plate of food before him, still had his mask upon his face. How did the monster intend to eat? Would the food just disappear into his belly...was the mask in actuality his face?

 

But then Ren’s gloved hands reached up to hook behind his mask, and time seemed to slow as the mask of Kylo Ren was finally lifted.

 

And Armitage’s heart stopped.

 

The stories always told of the horrors of Kylo Ren, how to deal with him was to deal with death itself. They spoke of the monster that crept in the shadows at night, to lurk and steal and ravage unsuspecting souls. They spoke of how the name of Kylo Ren was the name of doom.

 

They did not speak of beauty. They did not speak of hair, dark as midnight, that fell in waves as graceful as nightfall itself. They did not speak of the jawline, cheekbones, or a nose so sharp they could no doubt cut through stone. They did not speak of the lips that crooned the various doomed deals, caressing each of his honeyed words as a lover might in a night of languid passion.

 

They did not speak of the eyes, pitch black, that bore into one’s soul.

 

_ Am I truly damned now, for seeing such a face? _ Armitage could not help but lament.

 

“You are to be my bride, my face is for you to see.” Ren nodded, before taking a single red apple in his gloved hand. His plush lips briefly kissed the red skin before they parted to reveal his sharp teeth as they bit into the fruit’s flesh.

 

Armitage shivered, and he was ashamed to find he could not tell if it was from fear or--

 

“Eat, my Queen.” Ren extended the apple to Armitage, though the redhead could not help but notice that the fruit’s skin had turned a vibrant shade of green. “ _ Eat.” _

A shuddery breath escaped Armitage, and he found himself leaning forward, his own lips touching the fruit as he was poised to bite, to eat from Ren’s hand.


End file.
